Trading Up
by Shelby Bean
Summary: The boys know there will be a catch when Crowley gives them a spell to trade a demon in exchange for a soul rescued from hell. Dean is not prepared to deal with a familiar face, and Sam is quickly in over his head. (This story will get pretty dark, with mentions of torture and violent flashbacks.)
1. Chapter 1

Return one human from hell. Just like everything nice Crowley ever came up with, it seemed too good to be true. It was also, to their frustration, too good for the Winchesters pass up.

Crowley handed over the spell with a smile and a flourish. A win-win, he had called it. He would get one of his minions back downstairs, while Dean and Sam could free a tortured soul. Repeat as desired.

The spell was straightforward enough. They found a quiet, abandoned parking lot and painted the symbols almost as large as a basketball court. Next, they caught themselves a demon. He was a little guy, dressed like a librarian, but a demon is a demon. They left the poor bastard chained in the center of their artwork while they performed the spell.

Of course they were not naive enough to think Crowley had been completely honest. They were armed to the teeth, figuratively of course, in preparation for whatever the catch turned out to be.

"Please, stop," the skinny man cried. He had pulled himself up to a kneeling position, his hands still shackled behind his back. He looked genuinely afraid as Sam continued reading. The boys were used to this reaction; they'd done their share of exorcisms. All three flinched when a bolt of lightning struck the ground at the edge of the parking lot.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Dean nodded, and Sam read on. The possessed man blubbered and sobbed as another flash of electricity lit up the symbols on the ground around him. Sam spoke the last line of text from the stiff, yellowed page, and the brothers both braced themselves for whatever was about to go down.

Wind sped around them. Dean held up an arm to shield his eyes. Neither of them could see the man at the center any longer. One huge clap of thunder, and the brightest flare of lightning yet, then it all went still.

They rushed in to check on their test subject, not sure what sort of mess they would find. He was gone. Sort of. In his place was a woman. She wore a pastel yellow dress in an outdated style neither of them could place. Her head hung down, her light brown hair hiding most of her face. She was in the exact spot and position they had left the man; her hands were even shackled the same way. They slowed their approach, but her head jerked up at the sound of their feet. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. Dean stayed a few feet back, weapon readied behind him. Sam inched forward. He held out a cautious hand toward her. "Maam... are you alright? Can you understand me?" She stared at him, breathing hard, visibly trembling. Sam half-turned to his brother. "Uh, any ideas here?"

"Not really," Dean hissed back. "I guess she's in shock?"

While they spoke, the woman pulled her gaze from Sam to Dean. She stared at him, her expression blank for a moment, then something clicked in her memory. Her eyes went wider still.

Sam turned back just in time to notice this change. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe." By the way she turned to look at him, he was convinced she understood his words. He just couldn't tell if she was shaking her head in response, or just shaking. Before he could find out, her eyes rolled up, and her body went limp. He caught her just before her head hit the pavement.

* * *

Author Note: I've had this plot bunny pestering me for a long time. I'm not sure how long it will be yet. Please let me know what you think so far, and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

They slung her in the back seat of the Impala and sped to the nearest motel. It was possible they had never been more grateful to find a seedy motel in the middle of nowhere; there were no curious looks as they carried her unconscious body from their car to the room.

While Dean locked the door and checked out the window, Sam placed the woman gently atop one of the beds, rolling her onto her side with her cuffed wrists behind her. "So, what now?" he wondered aloud.

Dean came to stand beside him. "Hell if I know." He crossed his arms, looking down at the woman. "Does this mean it worked? You tested her, right? She's not just some other demon?"

"She's human, far as I could tell. We can find out more once she's awake." He frowned. "Those clothes - who do you think she was?"

She was very obviously not from this decade. Her chin-length hair was styled in waves against her head. Her face was round, with soft features, and she wore bright red lipstick, which was now smudged from being hauled around. Her yellow dress buttoned down the front, and reached just past her knees. Her shoes, which had somehow not fallen off, were navy blue pumps tied with ribbons.

"We should let Cas in on this," Dean said. On seeing Sam's raised eyebrow, Dean hurried to explain. "He can make sure her soul is in there, like he did yours. Just to be sure."

"Is that a good idea? After what she's been through, it might be too much."

The woman on the bed stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. At first she lay very still, taking in her surroundings. Once she noticed them watching her, she moved quicker than they thought possible, even with her hands cuffed behind her. She scrambled back across the bed, trying to get as far away as possible. Her chest heaved as she pressed herself against the headboard, her feral eyes darting between the two of them.

"It's okay," Sam told her in a soft voice. "We're not going to hurt you." She held very still, watching him intently. "Do you understand me?" She didn't budge? "Can you talk?"

Dean elbowed him in the ribs, tipping his head at something on the table behind them. "You thirsty?" he asked her. "How about something to drink."

She definitely understood that. Dean turned to grab an empty glass as Sam slipped him the little flask of holy water. Her eyes followed him as he walked to the bathroom sink, filled the glass with tap water, and brought it to her.

Just before the glass reached her lips, he pulled it back an inch. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Her whole body trembled. She wouldn't look up, and she opened and shut her mouth a few times before her voice finally came, scratchy and pained. "I am nothing."

Dean recoiled, his eyes growing wide. For a second, it almost seemed he was afraid of her. He recovered himself, and shoved the glass at Sam before retreating to the far end of the room.

The woman had flinched at Dean's reaction, but didn't move, even when Sam thrust the glass of water right under her nose. She gave him a wary glance before accepting. The boys each held their breath as she took a sip.

When she spluttered and choked, their expressions grew angry. Sam pulled back. "Wait," she gasped between coughs. The brothers exchanged a look. Cautiously, Sam brought the glass back to her mouth. She took another drink, and this one went down smoothly.

After chugging half the glass, she was gasping, trying to catch her breath. Sam put the glass down. "So, you can understand us?" He sat beside her and took her by the arm. "I'm going to take the cuffs off now." She kept perfectly still, even held her breath. "My name is Sam," he told her. "That's my brother, Dean. We can help you."

At the mention of Dean's name, her vision had locked onto him. She mindlessly rubbed her wrists as Sam released her. She said nothing.

He tried again. "This may be hard to understand, but you're back. You're not in hell any more."

She curled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Stop," she whispered.

"Stop what?" Sam asked gently. She just closed her eyes and shook her head. "You're safe here."

He was not getting the desired reaction. She clapped her hands over her ears. "Stop it, stop it."

"No one is going to hurt you, I swear."

"Stop!" she screamed, her voice hysterical. Tears welled up in her eyes. Sam put his hands up, and backed away slowly and deliberately.

Dean join him by the window. "She thinks this is another game," he kept his voice low. The woman had her head down, and was rocking forward and back.

"Can't say I'm surprised. How do we convince her this is real?"

"I got through to you," Dean reminded him.

"But we're family. Everyone she knew is probably long dead. Plus we have no idea how long she was down there." He stood up straighter, his face growing solemn. "Maybe that's the catch, maybe she's…"

"Looney?" Dean offered.

Sam glanced over to see if she'd overheard, but there was no sign she was even on the same frequency. "If she's too far gone to even know where she is, then this whole thing was pointless." He let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine, call Cas."

Dean shuffled his feet awkwardly. He looked sideways at his brother before turning his face up to the ceiling. "Casl, uh… it's me, Dean. Sam's here. We've got kind of a situation. Could use your help, man. So…" He glanced around the room. "If you could get over here, that'd be great. The sooner, the better."

Their attention was torn back as the woman let out a terrified wail. Sam and Dean spun around to see that Castiel had joined them. The woman must have watched him appear in the room, because she was now huddled on the floor between the two motel beds.

"What is this?" Cas demanded. He studied the hysterical woman, looking almost offended at her presence.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Good to see you too, buddy."

"We were hoping you could help us with her," said Sam. Cas just frowned.

"She's fresh out of hell and chock full of crazy," Dead added.

Cas shot him a scowl before going over to kneel next to the woman. She whimpered as he lifted a hand toward her head. He paused. She shook her head frantically, trying to press herself back, further away from him. After a moment, he nodded, then stood up again. He turned to address Dean and Sam. "I could try to access her memories, but doing so against her will, on top of everything she's been put through, would cause severe psychological damage."

"That's great," Dean threw his hands up in frustration.

Sam still looked determined. "Can you give us anything? We don't even know her name!"

With a pointed glare, Cas walked to the far end of the room, and they followed. "Her name is Edith Nolan, born in 1905. She died at the age of thirty-one. Now tell me, why is she here?"

Sam looked at his brother before answering. "We found a way to swap a demon for a human soul." He gestured back at the woman. "That's what came out."

"Exactly what were you hoping I could do?"

Now Dean shrugged. "Make sure she's in one piece."

Cas gave a look of disdain. "Not in her condition, no. Once she's had time to sufficiently recover, then maybe I will examine her soul.

Dean made a face. "What are we supposed to do with her until then?"

"Take her somewhere quiet," Cas said, completely serious. "The bunker, perhaps. You have no idea…" He shook his head. "I would advise you not to get your hopes up." With a faint sound of wings, he was gone.

"Screw that," Dean growled. He marched toward the woman. "Get up."

The woman hurried to obey. Sam had started to rush after to Dean to stop him, but he stopped cold. She pulled herself up to her feet quicker than they had seen her move before.

Dean stood nearly toe-to-toe with her. "No more tricks. No games, no lies. Is that what you want?" She didn't move, but the shaking got worse. "Answer me," he said. His voice was quiet, his tone was anything but soothing.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, sir." Her whole body was trembling.

He looked her over. "Stand up straight," he chided.

She drew her small form a little higher, lifting her chin, but keeping her eyes downcast. Her fingers clenched at her sides. Dean took half a step back, raised his arm, and slapped her right across the face.

Sam rushed forward in horror. "What the hell, Dean!"

"Wait," he said, motioning Sam to stay back.

The impact had spun her halfway around, but she had caught herself against the bed. One hand was lifted to her cheek, a look of disbelief on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

Sam grabbed his brother by the arm. "What were you thinking?" Dean shook him off impatiently, pointing at the girl.

They both stared as she opened her eyes. Something was different. She peered around the room as if she were noticing it for the first time. Then her gaze landed on the window. Apparently forgetting about Dean, she rushed past him and pulled back the curtain. It was not quite dawn, but the streetlights outside would allow her to see a good bit. Her eyes were wide when she finally turned back around. "This is real?" she asked softly. "I'm out?"

Sam approached her. "You're really out." Worried she might faint again, he put his hand under her elbow for support.

She looked up at him, actually seeing him this time, the wild terror gone from her face. "What year is it?"

He looked at Dean, not sure if he should tell her the truth. He led her to the bed and waited for her to sit before answering. "It's 2013." Her mouth opened and her shoulders heaved as she took a ragged breath. "Long time?" Sam asked gently.

Tears began to trail down her face. "It felt like… much longer."

Dean huffed. "Tell me about it," he said sarcastically. Sam shot him a look.

He crouched down in front of her and tried to explain. "Time passes quicker where you were. One month on Earth is about ten years in hell."

They watched her eyes flick around as she tried to do the math in her head. She nodded. "That sounds more like it."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam ventured. Her only response was a shake of her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean paced on the sidewalk outside the motel room. "So now what? We're supposed to be her peer counselors? I can't think of a worse idea."

"Me neither."

Dean stopped pacing to frown at his brother. "What?"

Sam crossed his arms thoughtfully. "No, you're right. It's gonna be a full time job. Maybe we should get somebody to help watch her."

"You want to bring in a babysitter?" Dean raised an eyebrow, then stopped and gave it a second thought. He gave an ornery smirk. "Actually…"

"Not just some civilian," Sam interrupted, before Dean could suggest anything dirty. "Let's call in a few favors."

A faint crash came from inside, and their heads both whipped around. Dean was first through the door, tensed for whatever trouble was waiting. The room was empty, but the light in the bathroom was on. They signaled to each other, then Sam quietly pushed the door open. Shards of glass covered the sink and part of the floor. The mirror was shattered. Edith sat on the edge of the tub, holding part of the towel bar in one hand.

Sam stepped over the broken bits of glass to get to her. "Are you okay? What happened?" He slipped the towel bar from her fingers and passed it back to Dean.

Edith looked surprised to see them. She glanced around the small bathroom, not bothered by the mess she had made. "The mirror was wrong," she stated.

"Wrong?" Dean repeated.

"I don't look any older," she explained calmly. "Can't be right."

* * *

Somehow they all managed to get out of the bathroom without anyone getting hurt. Edith gazed out the window, watching the morning grow brighter as the boys tried to form a plan. Castiel's suggestion to take her to the bunker seemed to be the only option. Keep her away from suspicious eyes. At least, until they could round up someone to keep an eye on her.

She absentmindedly agreed to the plan, and Sam stepped outside to make some phone calls.

Dean stayed inside to make sure their guest didn't destroy anything else. Edith flinched when the door slammed shut, but didn't move from her spot by the window. He watched her, feeling more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

"When did you get out?" she asked.

Dean frowned at her. "Excuse me?"

She was running her fingertip over a thin crack in the window pane. "When did you get out," she repeated, slower this time. "Of hell?"

"Four… almost five years."

"How?"

His brows creased together as he struggled over how to answer. "Angels," he finally said.

She nodded. They sat in silence for a moment. When she turned to look at him, her expression was solemn, almost unreadable. "I hoped I would see you again."

Dean swallowed hard, not breaking away from her gaze. They both jumped when the door opened again.

Sam narrowed his eyes at them. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No," Dean growled. "What have you got?"

Sam tossed his phone on the nearest bed. "Nothing yet, I left a few messages." He shrugged. "How about we get something to eat?"

Edith's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. "Oh my God, food! I've missed food."

"Food it is, then," Dean shrugged. "Let's go."

At first she didn't budge. Hesitantly, she asked, "do they still have milkshakes?"

Sam couldn't help laughing. "Yes, they still have milkshakes."

Edith almost smiled.

* * *

They watched cautiously as Edith made her first venture out of the motel room. She seemed a little surprised at the sight of Dean's car, but didn't let it stop her from walking right up to it. She turned back, looking more confident. "Well? Didn't anyone teach you manners?"

Dean moved to open the back door for her. "You're welcome," he said, with just a hint of frustration.

Edith ignored his tone. "Thank you," she said coolly, sliding across the seat and smoothing her skirt down.

Sam chuckled at his brother's exasperated look. "That could have gone a lot worse," he pointed out.

Dean got in the Impala without a word. He started the engine, and the radio came on automatically. Styx blared out of the speakers. Edith jumped at the sudden volume, frowning and covering her ears. "Sorry," Dean mumbled, turning the volume down just a little.

"What is that?" she demanded. "It sounds like angry geese!"

Sam bit back a smile. Dean clenched his teeth as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.

From the back seat, Edith peered out the windows as they drove. She frowned at the modern buildings, and let out a scandalized gasp at some of the outfits she saw.

"What do we feed her?" Dean asked, his voice low. "Besides milkshakes?"

Sam made a face as he thought about it. "How should I know?"

There was a fast food joint ahead. Dean half-turned in his seat. "Hey, uh… do you like burgers and fries?"

Her face lit up. "Do I ever!"

Dean gave his brother a smug look as he turned into the drive-thru. He pulled up to the menu board and ordered enough sandwiches to feed a small army. Edith looked amused as she watched him have a conversation with the speaker.

Static hissed. "Sorry, our milkshake machine is down. Would you like a soft serve instead?" The boys both turned to look at Edith. Her disappointment was obvious, but she shrugged. Dean ordered a half-vanilla, half-chocolate ice cream for her.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Edith quickly unwrapped a burger and closed her eyes as she took a huge bite.

"Is it good?" Sam grinned over the seat.

Edith motioned at the three giant soft drinks, and Sam passed her one. She washed the bite down and shuddered. "No, not really," she answered. "These are nothing like I remember." She took a smaller bite and made a sour face as she chewed. Then she wrapped the rest of her sandwich back in the paper and handed it to Sam.

He passed the ice cream back over the seat. It was in a clear plastic cup with a long-handled spoon. Edith smiled faintly. "You can't mess up ice cream." She took a bite, and her expression grew dark. She handed the cup back to Sam. "I was wrong."

She laid down across the back seat of the Impala and shut her eyes. Dean glanced back every few minutes. "Is she out?"

"Looks that way." Sam grabbed a few fries.

Dean glanced over his shoulder again before he spoke. "We need to take care of this as soon as possible. She is already getting on my nerves."

"I hear you," Sam agreed.

Dean took another bite of his sandwich, then balanced it on the wrapper spread across his lap. "I just thought she'd be more… I dunno, grateful, or something. She's like a cranky old lady."

Sam nodded, checking his phone again. Then he chuckled. "Actually, if she hadn't died, she would be over 100 by now."

"Makes sense. Next she'll start hitting people with her purse, and calling us by the wrong names."

Amused, Sam shook his head. "She's doing pretty well, considering. Most people would be a complete head case by now."

Dean scowled. "Are you forgetting what she did to that poor, defenseless mirror?"

"I know. But she was down there longer than both of us combined. You don't just bounce back from that. On top of that, she doesn't have family or friends to go back to."

Edith's head popped up behind them. "Pull over."

Dean jerked the steering wheel. "What's wrong?" He pulled on to the shoulder, and Edith practically dove out of the car as soon as it rolled to a stop. She fell on her knees a few yards away, and emptied her stomach into the grass. Dean quickly turned his back, taking a deep breath of exhaust fumes.

Sam waited until she seemed to be done, then helped her up. "Better?" She nodded weakly. He helped her to her feet, and walked her back to the car. "Take a drink, not too fast." He held the straw up to her mouth. "That burger was probably too rich on an empty stomach. Maybe you should start with something bland." She nodded again, then lay down, curling up on her side. Sam patted the roof of the Impala, signaling his brother. "All clear."

Dean peered at her through the back window. "She'd better be done." He shrugged off his jacket before getting back in the driver's seat. Before they took off, he leaned over the seat, and spread his jacket over Edith like a blanket.


	4. Chapter 4

Edith slept fitfully in the back of the Impala, never drifting quite deep enough to dream. She woke with a start when Dean slammed the driver's side door. They were at the bunker. Edith gaped out the window as her eyes took in the odd, half-hidden structure. Dean marched off inside without even a glance back.

Sam stayed behind to open the car door and help her out. Still groggy, she stumbled a bit when her shoes hit the loose gravel, and gripped tightly onto his arm. She kept hold of him once they got inside, and all the way down the staircase. He politely did not pry her off.

Dean met them at the foot of the stairs. He had two beer bottles in one hand, and a glass in the other. He passed one of the beers to Sam. "You can have one when I'm sure you can keep it down," he teased Edith.

She nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. Her mouth hanging open, she was staring past Dean at the rooms spread out before her. From here, she could see most of the library, the row of doors above the landing, and a hallway that led to more rooms. Dean pressed the cold glass into her hand. "Thank you," she said absently.

Sam relaxed as she finally let go of his arm. "I need to hit the books," he said pointedly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine." He took another chug of his beer. "Come on, let me show you around."

She pulled her attention back to her hosts. Dean turned and headed toward the hallway to their right. She hurried to follow behind as he rounded the corner out of the library.

"There's my room," he patted a door as they passed. "Sam's over there," he pointed further down the hall. "You can stay here." He swung open the door and let her go in first. It was a modest room with a bed, dresser, a few shelves, a side table with a lamp. "This was Charlie's room, but she's… traveling for a while. If you need to borrow some of her things, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"That's very generous," Edith said, sincerely.

Dean sauntered back to the door. "I'll give you some time to… whatever."

"Wait," she said, her voice strained. She glanced past him, out the door, and lowered her voice. "Can we talk for just a minute?"

Dean didn't budge. Edith sat down on the bed and looked at him deliberately. With an eyeroll and a dramatic sigh, obliged. He rested his beer on his knee.

She took a deep breath. "I never got to say thank you."

He shrugged, trying not to smile. "Well..."

"Not this, not here. I meant before."

All the humor left his face. "What are you talking about?"

She looked down at her hands. "Once a year he would come. Spend the whole day together. To remind me how long I've been there. Quality time. He wouldn't stop until he was sure I'd remember."

"He? You mean Alistair?" The shudder that ran through her body was answer enough. "Go on."

"As long as I kept track, kept counting the years, I was holding on. Kept thinking there would be a way out, an end to it. I was up to eighty-five thousand, six hundred and forty-four. That was when I stopped counting."

He was rattled at the number, but tried to keep his game face. "Then what happened?"

"You, silly! In all that time, you were the only thing that got through to me. He was so proud of you."

Dean felt sick to his stomach. "I'm sorry…."

"No! Don't be sorry! By the time you were through with me, I told him I didn't want to count any more. He never touched me again. After that, everything was downhill. Almost easy. I never thought I'd get a chance to say thank you." She put her hand on his knee. "And now I can."

"Edith," he began, his eyes downcast.

"Do you ever think about it? Our time together, the things you did to me." Her hand was massaging his thigh. "I bet you've learned a lot since then."

Dean clenched his jaw, fighting back those memories. He couldn't find words to argue.

Edith slid down to the floor, kneeling before him, looking up with desperation. "Show me something new. Hurt me again. Please, Dean."

Visibly shaken, he stood, pushing her hands away. "I can't."

She tried to grab onto him. "Dean, wait," she cried, falling on her hands and knees when he jerked away. "Please!" He glanced back once, his expression a mixture of disgust, regret, and longing. Then he walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

A confused Sam looked up as Dean stormed through the library. "Everything okay?"

Dean's posture was tense. "She is beyond what we can fix, Sam. We need to get her some professional help."

Sam nodded. "Right, maybe. What happened?"

"Nothing." Dean crossed his arms. "I just don't think we can really help her."

"I'm looking into options, but we can't exactly pull a name from the yellow pages for this."

"Maybe she shouldn't stay here. We could drop her at a mental home, someplace qualified to deal with this level of screwed up."

"Like we did with Cas? Because that worked out great. Regular doctors would have no idea how to handle her. They would just drug her up, or lock her away for her own safety. No, she's better off here."

Dean put his hands on his hips. "I just… could you go look in on her? I need a break."

Sam gave him a questioning look. "Sure, but…"

"Thanks Sammy." Dean clapped him on the shoulder as he left.

Edith was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to remember how to breath. The knock at the door made her jump, and she smoothed her skirt with shaking hands.

The door opened a few inches, and Sam peered in cautiously. When he spotted her, he hurried over, worry creasing his brow. "Are you alright?"

Out of habit, Edith stood, eyes on the ground. "No," she admitted.

His eyes flitted across her face. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." They looked at each other, then a ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Not really. Thanks."

Sam had an idea of what she was holding back. "Edith, you know…my brother isn't the only one who did time downstairs."

Her eyes grew wide. "You? I didn't know."

"It wasn't quite the same as what you've been through, but I have an idea of how you feel."

She was still gaping at him. "But you seem alright," she said in disbelief.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he chuckled. "When I came back, Dean helped me through it. You don't have to figure this out alone."

The look in her eyes was almost hopeful, but she didn't say a word.

After a strained silence, he stood up a little straighter. "Is there anything you want? This place is pretty well stocked, or we can make a run into town."

"I'd like to freshen up." She scrunched up her forehead. "Do you have… uh," she circled her hand, trying to remember.

"I can show you to the bathroom."

She bit her lip excitedly. "You have indoor toilets!"


	5. Chapter 5

When he heard the ringing of a phone, Dean absent-mindedly pulled his own from his pocket. He squinted at it for a second, confused, before he realized it was not his phone that was ringing. With a heavy sigh, he tracked down Sam's phone. The caller ID showed that it was Garth.

"Hey," he answered gruffly. "Please tell me you have something."

In the bathroom, Edith was practically giddy as Sam explained how flush toilets work. They had already rounded up a tube of toothpaste and a brush, some lotions and soap from various motels, and a clean towel. Sam watched her gush over each little thing, a feeling of pride growing in his chest. It was baby steps, but he was helping her find a sense of normalcy. "The shower faucets are tricky, want me to show you how to work them?"

"Oh no, this is more than enough, thank you." She turned the sink faucet on and off. "This is the neatest thing I could ever imagine!"

"Wait until you see a television." Edith gave him an odd look, but he just chuckled. "Nevermind."

She stopped playing with the water. She chewed on her lip, trying to gather her nerve. "How long were you down there?"

The question took him by surprise. "Uh… it depends. I was gone for a year and a half, which is about two hundred years."

"Did you take the offer?"

"What-" Sam narrowed his eyes. "How do you know about that?"

"You know, word gets around." She avoided his eyes.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his neck anxiously. "My experience wasn't like Dean's. It wasn't like anybody's."

Edith was watching him intently. "So you never caught a break?"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No, you could say that."

"That explains it." She stood a step closer to him, feeling bolder. "There's something about you. It's like you're still a bit charred around the edges. It makes me think you can understand me better than he does."

Sam met her gaze. "I'll do my best, Edith. I want to help you."

"Then tell me where to start."

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're already doing it."

"No, I mean…" She had to look away, and her voice shook. "For so long, everything was just pain and fear. Nothing else seems quite as real anymore."

"I remember." His hand cupped the back of her head. "Just keep going. Try to keep it simple; breath, sleep, eat."

She made a disgusted face. "Bad food doesn't help."

"Fair point," he smiled. "Listen, if you ever get confused about what's real and what's not, you come find me. Promise." His tone was stern.

"Alright, if you insist." She played coy, turning back to the sink to put paste on her toothbrush. "I feel like I've forgotten all those simple things. What else is there?"

"Lots of things," he said thoughtfully. His eyes took her in as she bent over the sink. "Warmth, comfort." Her skirt fit nicely over her round backside, which shook a little as she brushed her teeth. Sam mentally chided himself. "Um… music."

She spun back around. "Oh gosh, music! Do you have a radio in this place? I love music."

The bathroom door squeaked open, and Dean peeked in. He nodded to Edith. "Hey, I've got some chicken broth on the stove, if you're hungry. Should stay down better."

As she looked at Dean, Edith seemed to be holding her breath.

Dean turned to his brother. "Garth called." Then he let the door swing shut.

Edith smiled at the questioning look on Sam's face. "Go on," she told him. "I'll be fine."

The boys walked side-by-side down the hall. Dean spoke first. "I gave him the rest of the details about our little house guest. He's got some ideas. Gonna call around and get back with us."

"Garth? That's good. He's got a lot of connections."

Dean couldn't ignore the tension around his brother. "Alright, spit it out."

Sam sighed. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Me and Garth?" Dean smirked.

Sam was not amused. "You know. She seems to be doing pretty well, at least what I've seen. What did she do that got you so rattled?"

Dean tried to act nonchalant. "I don't know, man. She just needs more help than we can give her, that's all. Who knows what she might try? I'm just saying, you might want to sleep with one eye open tonight."

"Right." Sam knew when his brother had shut down a topic, and trying to get more out of him was pointless. He opted to change the subject. "Hey, did you take that old record player into your room?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I wonder if the Men of Letters had any music from when Edith was alive? Something familiar might really help her."

Dean nodded. "I did come across a few boxes of albums; I'll check how old they are. Good idea, Sammy." He gave his brother a pat on the arm.

When Edith was finished washing up, she found them both around the library table. She sat down at the place that had been set for her. After looking over the silverware appreciatively, she tasted the broth, keeping a cautious eye on Dean.

"How is it?" Sam asked her. "Better than the burgers?"

She nodded, eyes closed, savoring the taste. "Much better. Tell your cook I want her recipe."

Dean looked deeply offended.

Sam had to force a cough to keep himself from laughing. "We don't have a cook," he explained.

"I made that," Dean said coldly.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You?" She looked back and forth between the two men. "Do all men do domestic work now?"

Sam made a hacking sound in his throat, then covered his face, his shoulders shaking as he hunched over. Edith looked at him, bemused.

Dean glowered. "It's not… listen, a man's gotta eat. Might as well do it right. You just... eat your broth."

Still wide-eyed, she took another sip. A ringing phone broke through the tension. Sam stood up, almost knocking his chair back. "I should get this." He headed out of the room as he answered.

Edith and Dean did their best not to look at one another. She spoke first. "It's really good. The broth, I mean. It was very thoughtful of you to make it for me."

His expression softened. "No problem. Thanks for not puking in my car."

She sat up taller in her chair. "Dean, I know what you must think of me. I was down there so long, I hardly even know who I am. But you've saved me twice now, and that's no coincidence. I owe you."

"Don't say that. You don't owe me anything. I didn't save you." Growing upset, he rubbed his hands over his knees. "There's no way I can make up for what I did to you."

Edith was incredulous. "Oh, honey, you don't get it. Do you have any idea how many nights I thought about you!" She put down her spoon and glanced around. "Want to know my favorite? I remember how you would tie my arms above my head…" Her eyelids fluttered shut at the memory. "Then you'd make these... shallow cuts… just enough to bleed." She dragged one fingernail across her chest, leaving a faint pink mark. Dean's eyes grew dark, his jaw tightening. Edith was was breathing hard. "Then, while you had your way with me, you would... rub your hands through the blood, until it was just ...everywhere." Her eyes still closed, she trailed her hands over her body, spreading the imaginary blood.

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Shut up."

Edith opened her eyes, licked her lips. "Imagine what you could do without the boss looking over your shoulder."

"Shut. Up." Dean clenched his fists.

Just then Sam walked back in. "Hey, good news; that was Garth on the phone." He stopped in his tracks. "Alright, what the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Dean turned to his brother, his expression grim. "Please tell me the white van is on it's way to pick her up."

Edith grew worried. "What van? Is something going on? Who's coming to take me?"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh. "There is no van. It's just a saying." He rubbed his eyes. "Would somebody care to explain what I'm missing here?" Dean looked away, and Edith concentrated very hard on her bowl. Sam threw his hands up.

Dean shook himself. "Sorry, brother. It's nothing. What did Garth have to say?"

"He found us somebody. She's already on her way. And get this; she has experience with this kind of thing."

Dean sneered. "With hell flashbacks?"

"Not exactly, but she was a counselor for veterans and POWs."

"Pretty good." Dean rubbed his chin. "Should we find another place to do this? I mean, a secret bunker isn't much good when everybody knows about it."

"Relax, she's a hunter. Garth vouched for her."

Dean excused himself to put the kitchen in order, and Sam went to join Edith. She didn't look up when he sat down beside her. "Edith, this is a good thing."

She forced a smile. "Alright."

He studied her for a moment as she played with her food. "We're not trying to pawn you off on somebody else. You deserve every chance to get better. Dean and I… well, we aren't exactly qualified. We're going to do right by you."

She put down her spoon and looked at him. "Who's more qualified to help me than somebody who's been through the same experience?"

He spread his hands on the table. "I'm not walking away. If you need anything, I'm here for you. This is just… bringing in reinforcements."

Edith cracked a smile, and turned her face away. "Okay."

Sam put his hand on her back. "Tomorrow is probably gonna be a long day. You should try to get some rest." He stood to leave.

Dean was stacking clean plates when Sam found him. "Domestic work my ass," he was muttering. When he heard footsteps, he turned around. "Where's psycho?"

Sam crossed his arms. "Can't I leave you two alone for five minutes?"

"No, that's perfect; don't leave me alone with her. She's unstable."

"Of course she's unstable. We just dragged her back from hell after a hundred thousand years of torture. What do you expect?"

Dean shifted his feet, avoiding Sam's pointed stare.

"Fine, don't tell me what's going on. Just try not to agitate her any worse than she already is. Can you handle that?"

"Yes I can handle that," Dean pouted. He shoved the plates into a cabinet. "I'm going to go dig up some old lady records. Music soothes the savage beast, right?"


	6. Chapter 6

Just after ten o'clock that evening, Edith found Sam frowning over his laptop. He glanced up when he heard her soft footsteps. Then his eyes widening in surprised as he looked her over. "Where did you get that?" he asked, flustered. "That was not Charlie's."

She walked toward him, the ankle-length dressing robe gliding as she moved. It was mint green satin with accents of peach-colored lace. She turned in a slow circle, modeling for him. "You like it? Charlie's threads weren't really my style. I found this in a trunk in the back of the closet. My size and everything! Like it was meant to be."

"Very nice," he answered, a little stiffly. He forced himself to turn back to his computer.

Edith perched on the edge of the desk. "I hope I'm not keeping you from your work."

"No, it's no problem." He scowled at the screen, unable to remember what he was supposed to be researching.

She leaned back to show off her figure in the clingy fabric. "So how did you boys find this place, anyway?"

"Um… our grandfather passed it down to us."

Edith peered around the room innocently. "I couldn't help but notice it's really lacking a woman's touch." She looked sideways at Sam. "Maybe you are, too."

Sam closed his laptop, an embarrassed smile pulling at his mouth. "Edith," he began.

Her face was solemn as she untied the sash on her dressing gown. "You told me to come to you if I needed anything. So here I am." She opened the gown, revealing a clingy lingerie set in the same mint satin and peach lace.

Sam inhaled sharply. "What are you doing?"

Edith sat down across his lap, and slid her hands behind his neck. "Sam, you are the first person in... forever, who has touched me without hurting me." She lifted her fingertips to his cheek, tracing his jawline. "I trust you. You make me feel safe. I want to remember what it's like to feel good." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Help me remember." She nervously pressed her mouth to his.

He wrapped his arms around her, and a whimper escaped her throat. Sam's pulse sped up as she arched her body against his. The front of his pants were growing uncomfortably tight. Feeling lightheaded, he pulled her closer, tilting his head to kiss her more deeply.

She curled her fingers in his hair and gasped as his tongue pressed between her lips. Their movements became increasingly forceful, each fueled by the other's desperation.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam let his hands wander. Down her ribs, over her thighs. He slid one hand up her stomach, lingering at her breast, teasing her with his thumb until she moaned into his mouth. His other hand pushed her knees apart, and she pulled back to look at him, eyes wild.

He swallowed. "If you need to stop…" She silenced him with another kiss. When her hands found the bulge in his jeans, his breath hissed out at the sensation.

Grabbing her by the waist, he picked her up easily, setting her on the edge of the table. She wrapped her legs around him. Both gasping, she pulled him tight, grinding their bodies together. Sam pulled back just far enough to get his hand between them. His fingers stroked her through the thin satin. His teeth nipped at her neck. "Yes, please, yes," she was whispering.

Sam scooped her up and carried her to his room.

He tossed her playfully on the bed before shutting the door behind them. He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his button down and the gray t-shirt underneath, and dropped his jeans to the floor. At the edge of the bed, he paused. Edith rose to her knees on the mattress so she could run her hands over his defined chest and shoulders. Then she pointed at his briefs, an ornery smile crossing her lips. Sam laughed. He slid the briefs down and stepped out of them.

Edith blinked in surprise. She reached out, hesitantly, and wrapped her fingers around his erection. Sam let out a ragged breath. "Edith." Growing bolder, she squeezed a little, dragging her hand up and down. His teeth clenched. She twisted her wrist as she stroked him.

Sam grabbed her forearm, and she let go. He quickly tugged the satin cami up over her head. Edith scooted back across the mattress as he pulled down her bottoms and tossed them aside. He loomed over her. As she spread her legs for him, she turned away, trying to hide the fear in her eyes. He cupped her face with his hand, gently forcing her to look at him. "Hey, it's alright," he said softly. When she looked up at him, she saw the compassion in his eyes. "Do you want to stop? I understand."

Relaxing, she pushed a lock of his hair to the side. "No."

He leaned down and placed a few light, teasing kisses on her mouth, then her neck. "It's okay if you do," he breathed against her skin. "Just tell me." She nodded.

Then he began to move down her body. His tongue pressed roughly over her nipples, and she struggled to keep her gaze on him. He kept moving lower. "Sam?" He glanced up. His mouth had left a wet path down her body, which tingled when the cool, drafty air touched her. "Sam," she questioned again, unsure of his purpose. He kissed the tender skin below her navel, making his way further down, keeping eye contact. "Sam… oh!"

Her fingers dug into the sheets. She let her head fall back against the mattress. The motions of his tongue were making her entire body writhe. He found one particular spot and sucked, bringing a high, desperate sound from her lips. He kept at it until she began to feel dizzy. "Wait," she cried out, pulling at him.

Sam moved back up to kiss her on the mouth. His tongue dipped into her mouth, and she tasted herself. The realization made her moan. He stroked one hand up and down her body, from her breasts to her knees. His erection nudged against her thigh, warm and wet.

Edith broke the kiss, gasping for air. "Please... I'm ready." His eyes crinkled darkly, then he moved to the edge of the bed. Edith sat up and peeked over his shoulder, frowning as he opened a drawer in the nightstand. "What are you doing?"

He ripped open a small gold square. "Did you have these in your day?" he asked.

Edith's brows shot up. "Well yes, but not quite like that. I have to assume these are better made."

Sam was grinning as he turned around. He wrapped his arms around Edith and lowered her to the bed. This time when she opened up to him, she did not look away. He searched her face once more, then pushed inside her with a gasp.

Aware of his size, Sam started out slow. When he pulled back, Edith whimpered. He was using every ounce of self control. She sucked in a breath as he slid in deep again. The way he stretched her inside bordered on painful. It must have shown on her face, because this time he pulled out completely. "Edith, I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice raspy.

"I do," she told him. For one terrifying instant, she regretted her honesty.

His face went from surprise to concern. "Edith?"

She ran her fingers down his neck. "I've been hurt for so long. It's all I know." He blinked in confusion. Her eyes pleaded up at him. "I need this."

He nodded. "Alright." Edith felt her chest tighten up in excitement. His expression was dark as he eased himself all the way inside her. She cried out, digging her nails into his shoulders. He faltered.

"Keep going," she gasped. He obliged. The intensity of being worked open, feeling every inch of him, the straining, made her see stars. He reached further inside her than she could believe.

After a few moments, though, the burn began to ease, and the sparks of pleasure with it. She caught herself pressing her hips up against him. "More," she begged. He grabbed her legs and pulled them up, hooking her knees over his shoulders.

The position made her feel vulnerable. Edith rolled her hips, meeting his every thrust. But sooner than she thought possible, her body grew accustomed to the new sensation. She grasped at him, arching her back, trying to find the sweet spot again.

"Harder?" Sam asked. He arranged her legs around his waist, then swung up off the bed, still buried inside her. He turned and pressed her up against the wall. Gravity pulled her deeper onto him. He held her there, pinned between the cold, hard wall, and his warm, pliant body. The mixture of sensations made her cry out. She could feel him throb inside of her.

"Please," she moaned, raking her nails down his back. Edith cried out as every movement of his hips forced her body against the unyielding stone wall. Soon he was pounding into her with no restraint. It would certainly leave bruises. At least, she hoped so.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was experiencing the most vivid nightmare he'd had in months. Years, maybe.

He was in hell.

In his hand was a dagger with a short, wide blade. He looked around. There was a woman crouched in the center of the room, naked. A rope was tied around each wrist, leading out to opposite walls. She was trembling. As Dean sauntered over, he noticed the smudges of dirt and grease on her skin. "Get up," he growled. She hurried to obey.

He pressed the flat edge of his blade under her chin, forcing her head up. The girl's breathing grew ragged, but she didn't resist. Dean heard an appreciative hum from behind him. "Would you look at that," came a dry, throaty voice. "Absolutely terrified, but won't lift a finger to stop you. She's putty in your hands, my boy. Good work."

"Thank you sir," Dean answered.

Scratchy laughter echoed through the room. "What are you waiting for? Lay into her."

There was an endless array of tools at his disposal. Dean put down the dagger, picking up a cat-o-nine-tails instead. "Where do I start?" He circled, stepping on part of the rope, forcing her slowly to her hands and knees. He walked all the way around her, trailing the thin strips of leather across her back. "Answer the question," he demanded.

"Please, just hit me," she cried out.

Dean grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head up. "What's that? You _want_ me to torture you?"

She whimpered. "No ...yes? Doesn't matter."

He let go of her hair and sat back on his heels. "And why not?" He slid his hand down her back, over the curve of her ass, his fingertips prodding. "Speak up, now."

"Be- because _I_ don't matter."

He rose to his feet. "So true." He pulled back the whip and brought it down hard. The sound of the impact echoed around him.

Dean awoke with a sob. He lay frozen in panic for a moment, trying to gauge if anyone might have heard. Finally he let out the breath he'd been holding. He slid his feet off the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing a hand over his damp face. Then he noticed that he was half-hard. "You sick, twisted fuck," he berated himself. With a grimace, he wrapped himself in a bathrobe, to keep off the chill of the bunker, and to hide his erection in case he passed Sam in the hallway.

The younger Winchester was in no hurry to leave his bed. "You are not what I expected," he said, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Edith lay on her stomach beside him, her chin resting on her crossed arms. She smiled teasingly. "What, am I supposed to be some old fuddy-duddy?"

"Nah, this is better." He ran his hand gently over her back, which was tender after being pummeled into the wall.

She lifted her head. "Can I ask you something? I know my memories ain't exactly reliable, but… that was a good deal better than I recall. Are all men nowadays so…. giving?"

He laughed. "There is no good way for me to answer that." He propped himself up on his elbow, growing more serious. "Do you remember anything else?"

Edith's gaze turned distant. "It's all so vague. I can't get my head in order."

"What about people? Friends? Family?"

"I remember ...children." She frowned.

His eyes widened. "You were a mother?"

"No. At least, I don't think so." She blew air between her lips. "Way too many children. Maybe it was my job? What kind of job would involve lots and lots of kids?"

"A teacher."

She pushed up to her elbows. "I was teacher?" Her nose crinkled up. "Now that's really something. Thank you, Sam."

"It's nothing." With an amused chuckle, he rolled onto his back.

Edith lay her head back down. "Was it rough for you, when you first got out?"

He sighed thoughtfully. "Yeah, it was. I kept seeing things; I never knew what was real and what I was imagining. Sometimes I was convinced I hadn't gotten out after all. It was bad. If my brother wasn't there to help me through it, I don't know... I sure wouldn't be here today." He glanced over to see Edith's eyes were shut. He lowered his voice. "You asleep?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "I'm listening."

With a faint smile, he pulled the blankets up over her body. "It's late, you're exhausted. Get some rest."

She reached out for him. "Sam?"

"I'm right here." He placed a kiss on her shoulder. Edith shut her eyes, and before long her breathing became slow and even. Sam stared up at the ceiling, debating what to do.

When he was sure he wouldn't disturb her, Sam carefully slid out of bed. He scooped his jeans off the floor and pulled them back on. His t-shirt was nowhere to be found, so he got a clean one from the dresser, and buttoned his flannel shirt over it.

Dean was in the library, sitting across from Sam's forgotten laptop. His chair was tipped back, his feet up on the table. He was halfway through a beer. "Hey," he tipped the bottle at his brother in a kind of salute.

Sam eased down in the chair he'd abandoned earlier. "What's up, couldn't sleep?"

"Just having a midnight snack," Dean answered. "You?"

Sam just shrugged, very uncomfortably, in reply.

"What about Miss Crazy? Is she sleeping?"

"Yep," Sam replied, a little too quickly. He backpedaled. "I mean, she hasn't… um, I'm pretty sure she's out."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Pretty sure? I hope so. I sure don't want to wake up to see her standing over me with a knife. Am I right?"

"She's not that bad," Sam rolled his eyes. "I think she's adjusting pretty well, considering."

"You would say that." Dean pulled his feet off the table top and leaned forward, pointing at Sam for emphasis. "There's something going on with her. Don't let her fool you, Sammy. I see her trying to play damsel in distress, but don't you buy it. And do not let your guard down."

Sam made a face, and snorted indignantly. "Do you know how paranoid you sound right now?"

Just then something caught Dean's eye. He glanced past Sam's shoulder, then leapt to his feet in a panic. "Holy shit." Sam spun around to see Edith standing in the entryway.

There was a vacant expression on her face. "Herbie, come back to bed, dear." She was wearing Sam's t-shirt like an oversized dress.

Sam turned to look, wide-eyed, at his brother. Dean held both hands up, shaking his head. "No way, man, nuh-uh."

With an angry huff, Sam went to Edith and took her by the shoulders. "Edith? Let's get you back to bed, alright? Come on." He prayed that Dean would not recognize the shirt.

Her eyes moved across the room, but she didn't seem to know where she was. "He's coming back tomorrow, you know. We don't have all the time in the world."

Sam led her down the hall. "Right, okay. Then you should definitely get some sleep." He walked her to Charlie's old room and steered her inside. "Here we go." Dean had followed, though he was keeping his distance. Sam hurried to pull down the blankets before Dean realized this bed had not been slept in.

Edith let herself be led to the edge of the bed. Then she turned, and pulled Sam down into a soft kiss. She gripped his face in her hands. "If he finds out," she whispered, "we're dead." Her eyes distant, she crawled into bed and let Sam tuck her in.

Dean was waiting outside the door. "You alright man?"

"I'm fine, why?"

He leered, slapping Sam on the back. "I told you she would try something. You want some bleach, man?"

Sam sighed. "Did you hear what she said? I don't think she knew it was me. She must have been seeing this Herbie guy."

"Herpes?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Really, Dean!" Exasperated, Sam shook his head. "Anyway. That's gotta be a person from her life before. Maybe it will help us find something useful. I mean, I've come up with jack so far."

"Right, you go ahead with your little herpe hunt. I'll be the bigger person and not say I told you so."

Sam scowled. "You literally just said 'I told you so' like thirty seconds ago."

They stood there glaring at each other for a moment. "Whatever, man." Dean tipped up his beer to get the last few drops. "I'm going to bed."

Sam waited until his brother had shut the door before he returned to his own room. He scooped up Edith's dressing robe and slung it over his shoulder. The tiny satin shorts had landed in the corner behind the door, and he located her cami top in the tangle of sheets pushed halfway under the edge of the bed frame. Sam peeked out into the hallway, then scurried past Dean's room with an armful of satin and lace.

Edith hadn't budged. He spotted the trunk she had mentioned, and tossed everything inside. Finally, he could relax. His shoulders drooped as he let out a relieved sigh. Then he crouched down next to the bed and pushed back a strand of hair off Edith's face. "Who are you?" he whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam woke from a restless sleep. His phone screen displayed 6:44, and he rolled out of bed with a frustrated sigh. Reinforcements would be arriving in a few hours, so if he wanted to get a morning run, shower, and breakfast, there was no time to waste.

He pulled on some comfortable pants and a zip up sweater, and dug his running shoes out of the closet. There were no signs of life as he left the bunker.

It was a chilly morning. The dew had frozen in places, forming tiny beads of ice that caught the early light. A spiderweb on the railing looked like it was made of silver chain. Sam walked briskly down the driveway, giving his muscles time to warm up, then broke into a jog where the road turned and leveled out.

As his shoes pounded steadily on the ground, his mind wandered. What happened with Edith had thrown him. Not that she came on to him; Sam was not surprised at her need for physical contact. Helping her in that regard was not awful. But if it was just a pity screw, he wouldn't have felt so shaken afterward.

Maybe it was because he hadn't been that rough with a sex partner since Ruby. Although that was different, since he never worried he might actually hurt her. Ruby could handle anything he dished out, usually with a smile on her face. They'd trashed a few hotel rooms and several abandoned houses with their antics.

Sam slowed to a stop. His thoughts had betrayed him, and he did not want to cut his run short because of an inconvenient erection. He braced his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. He would have to puzzle this out somewhere a little less public.

Back at the bunker, Dean had forced himself out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen. He looked through the refrigerator, trying to piece together a recipe in his head. What sort of comfort food would pass for breakfast? He had no idea what meals were common in Edith's day, and he had no desire to do research this early. Waffles would have to do.

Not that Dean was babying their guest, he just didn't want her to upchuck again because of something he fed her. His motives were completely selfish.

He had just finished mixing up some batter and warming up the waffle iron when Edith shuffled in. He gave her a welcoming smile. "Morning!" His grin evaporated as his eyes took in her satin and lace dressing gown. Dean swallowed hard. "This place gets pretty drafty. Want me to find you something warmer?"

She glanced down at herself, still bleary-eyed from sleep. "I don't mind. It's not so bad being cold, I mean... you know."

Dean forgot to keep his guard up. He met her eyes, and for split second he could almost smell the ash and brimstone. There was no winter, no cold front, no break from that heat. He pulled his gaze away, turning his attention to the batter. "You like chocolate?" He tossed a handful of mini chocolate chips into the bowl and stirred them in. It took a lot of effort not to meet her eyes again. When the first batch was cooking, he pulled up a stool for Edith. "So… you sleep well?"

She creased up her brow, her expression distant. "Good. Fine. It was strange."

"Any nightmares?"

"No. I expected to! I don't think I had any dreams. Is that a bad sign?"

He pursed his lips. "I dunno." A pounding on the door interrupted. Dean sighed. "I guess Sammy locked himself out." He nodded to Edith, then hurried up the staircase and opened the door.

A dark skinned woman with a short pixie haircut stood outside. She had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and a wheeled suitcase behind her. "Hi, you've been expecting me," she spoke in a British accent. "Garth said you need my help."

"Cool, yeah." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Have we met?"

She blinked in surprise, giving him a second look. "Winchester?" Dean grinned. She pointed at him, squinting. "Dave? No, wait… Dan!"

The air went out of him. "Dean," he corrected.

"Tamara," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.

His smile came back in part. "Right, we worked that case in Nebraska."

She blinked, her confidence faltering. "You met my Isaac."

Dean was silent for a moment. "How have you been," he asked, his tone softer.

Tamara's chin went up. "Just keeping on."

He nodded somberly. "Come on in." He reached for her rolling suitcase, but she batted his hand away.

"I can manage." He held out his hands in mock surrender, and she grinned. "Go ahead."

As he turned to go back inside, the faint smell of smoke reached him. He had forgotten the waffles. "Damn it," he hissed, and flew down the stairs. He ran full tilt to the kitchen, rounding the corner to the doorway. He grabbed the cord of the waffle maker and yanked, ripping the plug out of the wall. "Edith?" he shouted, as the smoke alarm began to sound. Coughing, he grabbed a towel and used it to fan the air. "Edith!"

Tamara got his attention from the doorway. "Over there," she motioned behind him.

Dean spun around to see Edith sitting on the floor, her back against a cabinet. He was at her side in a second. "It's okay, you're okay," he soothed. He reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but pulled back.

She was looking straight ahead. "I tried to stop it."

"It's okay," he said again, then grit his teeth at his own uselessness.

Edith held out her hands toward him, palms up. The skin looked raw, like pink wax. Her hands were trembling.

Dean put on his poker face. "You'll be alright. No biggie." He scooped up Edith off the floor, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I've got you," he said gently.

Tamara's eyes were wide with concern. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Under the sink." He jerked his head back at the smoky kitchen. With a sharp nod, she ran inside.

Sam came back from his run to find a mystery car in the driveway, and the door standing ajar. He instinctively reached for his gun, but he hadn't worn his holster with his sweats. He grimaced, and eased silently around the doorframe empty handed. The smoke alarm was beeping wildly.

Heavy smoke still hung in the air just outside the kitchen. He squinted into the room just long enough to make sure there was no fire, then continued on. The muffled sound of voices drew him to the bathroom. He cracked open the door and peered in. From this narrow angle, he could just see Edith, her eyes closed, and Dean behind her, his arms curled around her body. He seemed to be whispering in her ear, but Sam couldn't make out the words. He eased the door open just a hair more, his pulse thudding in his ears. Dean bent Edith's body forward, and Sam heard her cry out. Her body curled forward, and Dean clenched his teeth, adjusting his hold on her. Sam took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. Jealousy gave way to confusion as he saw Edith's hands plunged into the brimming sink.

"Welcome back," Dean greeted him. Edith didn't look up. Dean's hands were wrapped around her forearms, pinning her hands under the water.

Sam stood frowning at the two of them. "What the hell happened!"

"I forgot about the waffle iron. Burned both her hands pretty good." He glanced up, his forehead creased with worry. Edith kept her eyes tightly shut.

"Want me to grab the first aid kit?"

"I've already got it," Tamara said, pushing past.

He did a double take. "Um, hello?"

She opened the white metal box on a countertop and pushed through the contents. "Hello, Sam," she said, while setting out a few rolls of gauze. "My name's Tamara, you might remember me." She slammed the lid on the box. "There isn't any burn ointment, someone will have to make a shop run."

Dean looked over at Sam. His eyes were strained and desperate. Sam knew that look. "We can handle this, Dean. Why don't you go? Maybe pick up some groceries, too."

"Sure," his relief was obvious. "If you could just..." he tipped his head toward Edith.

They both frowned at the situation for a moment. Sam made a few attempts to reach over or under his brother's arms, but pulled back each time. "Edith? I'm going to switch places with Dean, alright?"

"Okay," she whispered, not moving.

Dean released his grip as Sam moved in to take his place. He stood back to survey the damage, rubbing a hand up the back of his head. "Keep that water running cold for at least twenty minutes."

"Yep," Sam answered softly.

"Don't wrap the gauze tight, in case there's swelling."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I know."

He turned to leave, then turned back. "Keep her hands elevated after-"

"Dean!"

"Alright, I'm going." The door swung closed after him.

Tamara chuckled, and Sam gave her a puzzled look. She smiled. "He might drive you crazy, but trust me, if he was gone, you'd even miss the fighting."

* * *

_**Author Note:**_ If you're on tumblr, look me up at limabeanwrites for early chapter releases and sneak peeks.

I'm very pleased to be part of a group writing project that is coming out tomorrow. It's a Valentine-themed Supernatural fic with a mysterious spell and lots of favorite characters. I got to team up with some _extremely_ talented writers, and the results are very exciting! Look for that tomorrow on my blog.


	9. Chapter 9

Medical supplies were spread across the bathroom counter. The layout reminded Edith a little too much of torture instruments, and she couldn't pull her eyes away. Sam had lifted her up to sit on the countertop before going to fetch some aspirin. She held as still as possible.

"You're doing great," Tamara soothed. She was nearly finished cleaning Edith's burns.

Edith winced as the towel made contact with her red, tender skin. She was used to pain, but this was different. Every touch caused sharp, shooting pain to flash up her arms. If she wasn't already seated, she might have collapsed by now.

"Now I'm going to put on some antibiotic ointment," Tamara told her softly. She had been very straightforward, making sure Edith understood what was happening, and keeping her calm. "This shouldn't hurt very much. I'll be very gentle."

Edith watched her squeeze a large dollop of the clear gel onto her fingertips. She let out a shaky breath as the cool ointment covered the burns.

Tamara attempted to distract her. "We're going to be spending quite some time together. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Yes, I do." Edith momentarily forgot her injuries. She poured through the countless questions in her mind. There was no good place to start. "What are things like now?"

"Now? As opposed to…"

"Before I died."

"You-" Tamara raised her eyebrows. She decided to go along with it. "What happened?"

"I don't actually remember," Edith said apologetically. "It was a long time ago, I've forgotten a lot of things."

Tamara shook her head sympathetically. "How long ago?"

Edith frowned. "About seventy years, I guess."

Tamara's jaw hung open. "Hang on just a tick, alright?" She put down the tube of ointment and went to the door. Leaning her head around the corner, she hollered, "Winchester!" Then she pulled her head back into the bathroom and smiled politely at Edith.

Sam burst into the room in under a minute, eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

Tamara crossed her arms. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Let's just say that some important facts got left out between what you told Garth, and what he passed along to me. So why don't you go ahead and fill me in. Now!"

Realization dawned across Sam's face. "What exactly did he tell you?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, glancing sideways at Edith. "I'd rather not say."

"Oh," Sam nodded curtly. "Dean answered my phone when Garth called back." He pushed his fingers through his hair.

"I don't do this paranormal crap anymore, Winchester. This is not what I came on board for."

He held his hands out. "I understand, I really do. But you're here, and we could really use your help on this. Garth said you have counseling experience. Please, just stay for a couple of days. I will explain everything."

"I only work with humans now," she fumed.

Sam glanced at Edith, his expression pained. He lowered his voice. "She is human. Please, Tamara. It's not her fault."

Clutching her head, Tamara paced the bathroom. "I'm going to regret this." She turned and looked at Edith. "Fine, okay."

"Thank you." Sam gave Edith a relieved smile.

"Let me go find my bags. I never even got to settle in before everything hit the fan." Tamara pushed open the bathroom door and was gone.

Sam went to Edith, and cradled her small hands in his larger ones. Sitting on the counter, she was almost taller. She watched him squinting at her palms, trying to evaluate the damage. "Is it bad?"

The burned skin appeared red and welted. Her skin might blister, but that was manageable. There were no signs of a third degree burn. Sam looked up, meeting her eyes. "I've seen worse." He lifted a hand to her worried face, smoothing her hair back. "Nothing to worry about."

Her eyes flickered across his face. "You'll take care of me."

Sam felt something surge through his chest. Protectiveness? He chewed his bottom lip, then reached for a roll of gauze. "Yeah. I'll do my best." Very delicately, he wound the gauze around her hands, covering the injured parts.

After a while, Edith spoke up. "Did you mean it? What you said about me?"

He frowned. "Which part?"

"You said it wasn't my fault. You said I'm human."

"Both true," he gave a puzzled smile.

Edith wrinkled up her forehead. "But how do you know?"

"What would make you think otherwise?" She looked away. He cupped his hand around her face, and the gesture reminded him of the previous night. It made his stomach do odd things. "Edith, listen. I have some idea what you've been through, but that doesn't change who you are."

Her face was earnest when she met his eyes. "What if I'm a just bad person? I mean, I got sent to hell for a reason, right?"

Sam couldn't think of one single comforting answer. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. It felt desperate and needy, but he didn't care. She wanted his comfort as much as he wanted to save her.

Neither heard the door open again. Tamara cleared her throat, and Sam pulled back guiltily. She looked at the both of them. "You finished?"

Sam was flustered. "We weren't-"

Tamara cut him off. "Finished bandaging her hands," she corrected.

"Oh." He hung his head. "Yep."

"How about you show me to my room then?"

He nodded. "Good plan." Tamara smirked before turning to leave again. Sam followed behind.

"Uh, Sam?" Edith was still perched on the countertop.

"Right, sorry. I've got you." He lifted her easily by the waist, and made sure she was steady on her feet. His hands lingered a few seconds longer than necessary before he remembered to drop his arms to his sides. Then he glanced over at the door. "I should-" He stopped, grinning at his own awkwardness. He allowed himself to look at Edith, really look, and warmth shone in his eyes. "Come on." He held the door for her.

Tamara was waiting for them at the corner of the hallway. Sam could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she watched him walk in with Edith.

He gestured down the other corridor. "This way. We have one more room no one's claimed yet. It's probably a little dusty, but it's yours as long as you like."

"I appreciate it, but I won't be staying forever."

They stopped outside one of the doors, and Sam pushed it open. He flicked the light switch on, and the three of them filed inside. It was almost identical to the other bedrooms. The furniture was arranged slightly different, with the bed positioned against the left wall. Sam opened the closet doors. Unlike Edith's room, this closet had no leftovers from the previous tenant.

"Perfect," Tamara nodded. She propped her suitcases against the footboard of the bed. "Sam, could you please scrounge up something for brunch? Edith can keep me company while I unpack."

He was surprised at the curtness of her requests. "Sure, no problem." He glanced around the room, cleared his throat, and finally left, shutting the door behind him.

Tamara turned to Edith and giggled. "He's pretty cute when he's flustered," she teased.

Edith looked away fearfully. "Don't tell Dean."

The smile left Tamara's face. "Why would you say that, sweetie?" She put her hands on Edith's shoulders, studying her with concern.

Shaking her head, Edith bit her lower lip.

Tamara sighed, backing up a step. "Listen, I don't know what you've been through. It sounds vastly out of my depth. But the only reason I am here, is to help you learn to cope. I promise I will do my very best for you, on one condition: I want you to do your best to be honest with me. I cannot do my job if you lie to me."

"What if-" Edith couldn't bring herself to finish.

"Anything you share with me, will stay with me. Nowadays it's called doctor-patient confidentiality."

She risked a glance up, and met Tamara's earnest expression. Her fears grew a bit quieter. "That sounds okay."

"Good," Tamara nodded. "May I ask, then... are you and Sam an item?"

"He- I don't-" Edith's forehead creased up. "We-"

Tamara placed a soothing hand on Edith's bandaged one. "It's alright." Her brows narrowed. "Why don't you want Dean to find out?"

Edith's eyes went distant. "Because I'm…" she struggled for the right word. "His amusement. His..." She shook her head. "His scapegoat." That seemed to satisfy her, and her eyes became clear, focused and sure. Tamara felt her throat close up. She was beyond horrified. Her textbooks had never covered this sort of twisted mentality. She already regretted being here.

A knock on the door broke the moment. Tamara turned to see Dean peek in, and she tried to keep her expression blank. "Ladies," he said politely. "You getting settled alright?" She managed to nod her head, keeping her expression serene. Her mind was racing, and so was her pulse.

She had heard the rumors. Over the years, she caught whispers in the quiet corners of seedy dive bars and backwoods diners. Those Winchester boys. She always smiled sadly and shook her head; unlike those who spread the rumors, she had met those boys, worked alongside them. She knew better. Those sweet, baby-faced Winchester boys could not possibly be responsible for the things she had heard. Unless...

Maybe it was time to run. It wouldn't be that hard to just grab her suitcases and leave. She didn't owe them any explanation.

Dean excused himself, and she turned away from the door. Edith gave her a ghost of a smile. "I'm glad you're here. I promise, I won't keep anything from you."

Tamara silently cursed herself. She couldn't abandon this pitiable young woman. For a brief instant, Tamara wondered how hard it would be to kidnap the girl. She tossed the idea out immediately. Whatever history Edith had with Dean, it seemed too Stockholm syndrome-y for her to leave without a fight.

"I can unpack later," she heard herself saying. "How about you show me your room, and I'll help you change your clothes."

Now Edith gave a genuine smile. "Sure thing!" Tamara held the door open, and wondered just how deep over her head this would get.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean tried his best to get the smell of charred waffles out of the kitchen. He fanned the air with a towel, his brows pinched together in frustration. Edith had been in their care for one day and he'd already let her get hurt.

His mind jumped to that serene look on her face when he found her on the floor in here earlier. It reminded him too much of before. For a second, he'd thought he could recognize the smell of her burnt flesh. Of all the things he had done in hell, burning and branding were his least favorite. He only used it as a fallback, after his prey became desensitized to his other methods. It never failed; if he stuck to one thing for too long, the screams would become less agonized, the begging would stop. That meant it was time to crank things up.

Edith was a different ballgame. She grew accustomed to each new torture in too short a time. It irritated him. Just when he got into the swing of a new routine, she would ruin it. His blade would rip into her, blood and innards spilling everywhere, only for her to blink up at him with dull, listless eyes. She had forced him to get more creative.

Dean's phone chimed, pulling him out of his thoughts. He rubbed a hand over his face. His heart was racing from those memories of hell. It was a text from Garth. Nice timing, he thought, and made a mental note to hug Garth next time he saw the kid.

Sam was hunched over his laptop at the table in the library. He had jumped online for just a minute after he recalled the name Edith had said when she was sleepwalking. Herbie. It wasn't much. Now he was searching for two needles in a haystack, instead of just one. He'd already exhausted every federal database and state archive he could hack his way in to. Now, almost in desperation, he opened a basic search. This would never work; he shook his head. His large fingers typed in 'Edith Nolan + Herbert' and hit the button. Countless search results came up.

He frowned, and moved the cursor back to the search box. There was always a way to make the haystack smaller, he just had to think. His fingers tapped the keys, so now the search read 'Edith Nolan + Herbert + death.' Still too many choices.

Sam rubbed his hand across his jaw. He didn't know Edith's age at her time of death, so he couldn't pin down a year. It was safe to assume, based on her appearance, that she didn't pass from an illness or nature causes. His instincts kept reminding him of the haunting words she has said to him in her room. "If he finds out, we're dead." He changed the search query again. 'Edith Nolan + Herbert + murder.' The second link caught Sam's attention. It was a news article, only a few weeks old, and the partial summary looked promising.

LOCAL FAMILY SHOCKED BY POSTHUMOUS MEMOIR  
_February 2, 2013_ ...away in November of last year _[**Herbert** P. Anderson_ ...letters were written by **Edith Nolan**, victim of the infamous Northwood murder…

The link was a newspaper article from a town he didn't recognize. He clicked to open it, but most of the article was cut off.

Patricia Anderson had no idea she would uncover new evidence for a 70 year old homicide in the attic of…  
_FULL ARTICLE ONLY AVAILABLE TO OUR PAID SUBSCRIBERS._  
Please login if you are a registered user. Become a member today to receive full access to the Franklin Gazette online. Click here for subscription prices.

Silently cursing the website, Sam dug out his wallet. Then he hesitated. He pulled out one of his many fake badges. Turning it over in his fingers, he considered calling the newspaper and intimidating someone into sending him a copy of the article. He tucked the badge away and pulled out a credit card instead. It wasn't like they would be getting the bill for this, and he was sure one more unauthorized charge wouldn't bother Ronald L. Snowden any more than all the accumulated gas station fill-ups and fast food runs. After all, that's what credit card insurance was for.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Dean. "Hey," Sam nodded at his brother, shutting the laptop.

"Grub's ready," Dean muttered as he set down a tray. Steam rose from four bowls, and Dean placed one in front of Sam, along with a spoon. "It's garlic potato soup," he added with a shrug.

Taking a sip, Sam closed his eyes with satisfaction. "Dean, this is amazing." He took another spoonful. "I mean it, you are really good at this."

"Yeah, well… we gotta eat, right?" He failed to hide how pleased he was at Sam's favorable review.

Edith and Tamara soon appeared at the end of the room. "Something smells great," Tamara hinted. Dean motioned at the table, and the ladies hurried over to grab a seat. Edith was now wearing a loose flowered dress, blue with small white flowers, and a white lace collar. The hem swung around her calves as she moved.

Sam hurried around the table to pull out a chair for Edith, overly cautious of her bandages. Tamara sat next to her. Dean passed them each a bowl and spoon, then took the chair beside his brother.

Edith as she fumbled to pick up the utensil with her gaze-wrapped hands. Dean frowned. "You want some help?" She shook her head, and concentrated harder. Sam tried not to stare. Finally, she got it wedged between her middle and ring fingers. She managed to bring a spoonful to her mouth and take a sip. She looked around smugly. The guys pretended not to notice, but Tamara returned her proud smile.

For a while, the only sound in the library was the clinking of spoons. Sam finished first. He set his bowl down loudly on the tray, and reached for his laptop again. They he hesitated. He didn't want to confront Edith with any news until was absolutely sure what he had found.

Tamara pushed her empty bowl away with a sigh. "Well, if you boys don't have any plans for Edith this afternoon, I would like to begin some therapy."

Dean added his bowl to the tray. "Fine by me." He looked at Sam, who shrugged.

"Excellent. Is there a quiet room we could use, preferably with a comfortable sofa?"

Sam pushed his chair back. "Yeah, I'll show you." He offered Edith a hand up, lifting her by one arm until she was on her feet. Then he studied her, concerned. "Are you okay with that? You feel ready?" His hand lingered at her elbow.

"As much as I'll ever be."

Dean paused, holding the tray of dishes, and narrowed his eyes at the two of them. Tamara noticed. "Dean," she interrupted. "May I speak with you please?"

He pulled his gaze away. "Sure. Let me get these to the kitchen."

Tamara followed him out of the library, trying to figure out what to discuss with him once they got there.

Sam watched them go. He turned back to Edith, and put his hand on her cheek. "Don't be scared. Tamara is going to help you, I promise." Edith nodded. He let his hand drop. "You look nice, by the way."

"Thanks," she glanced down, remembering the dress. "It's a bit too modern, but what can you do?"

He chuckled, then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, maybe later, Tamara could take you out shopping, help you pick out some new clothes."

She frowned. "I won't be much good at sewing anything for a while." She held up her bandaged hands, as if he'd forgotten.

"No-" He kept forgetting how much had changed since she was alive. "They sell already-made clothes now, you don't have to sew them."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're teasing me!" She shook her head in disbelief. "How do they know what will fit everyone?"

Sam bared his teeth. "Well… that's complicated."

In the kitchen, Tamara was rinsing and drying the bowls as Dean washed them. When the last one was stacked in the cupboard, he patted his hands with a towel and turned to her, crossing his arms. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

She swallowed hard. "Dean, I don't know what history you have with that girl…" He uncrossed his arms and looked away uncomfortably. Tamara went on "...and I'm not going to force the issue. I only came here to help her recover from whatever she's been through. But these secrets and lies between you and your brother are not going to help matters. Whatever you know, talk to Sam. Be truthful. Then maybe he'll do the same."

Dean shot an accusing glance at her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow, and crossed her arms.


	11. Chapter 11

Edith settled into the couch cushions. She rested her bandaged hands in her lap and crossed her ankles. Tamara curled up at the other end of the couch, tucking her feet beside her. "I know you're nervous," she said gently. "It's completely understandable. But all we're going to do is talk. From what I've found, the more you talk about something, the less power it has over you."

"Okay," Edith said, her voice small.

"Just close your eyes, get comfortable. I'm going to guide you through a relaxation technique." She waited while Edith sat back and let out a slow breath. "I'm going to be with you the whole time. If you get nervous, if you need to stop, just tell me. Good?"

Edith nodded.

"I want you to imagine a place that's very beautiful, very safe. Somewhere lovely. It could be a place you make up in your imagination, or a place you have visited in your life. Just imagine yourself going to a place where you feel peaceful and relaxed." Tamara waited. "Are you there now?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful. If you can, just take a moment and look around. Take in any pleasant smells in the air. Notice the temperature, and what time of day it is. If there are any noises around you, they are quiet, and calming. Pay attention to how comfortable you are here. Allow yourself to relax, to just take in that feeling of peacefulness. You have nowhere to be, nothing urgent to do. Let it recharge your body and your mind."

Tamara paused again, giving Edith a minute to find herself. She watched the worry lines smooth on the girl's face, and her shoulders relax.

"I want you to remember, if you enjoy this place, you can come back to it any time you wish. You don't have to wait for me. If you find yourself feeling anxious or overwhelmed, just breathe deeply, and you can come to this place of comfort and safety."

Sam cracked open the door and peered in, motioning for Tamara. She waved him away. He gave an apologetic look and motioned again.

Tamara sighed, turning back to Edith. "Just take a moment to explore your place of relaxation." She waited a second, then pushed herself up off the couch. Lowering her voice, she led Sam out and closed the door. "This better be important, you cannot make a habit of interrupting her sessions."

"No, I know." He had a handful of loose papers. "Are you doing thought regression?"

"Perhaps. What do you have?" Her eyes flickered across the text. "Dear Lord," she said under her breath.

"Maybe if you could just ask about this name," he pointed at a highlighted word.

She looked up at Sam, narrowing her eyes. "What exactly do you hope to accomplish by this?"

"If we can find out why this happened, it might explain why she's here."

"Why she's... now hold on, what do you mean by that?"

Sam tilted his head to the side. "Didn't Garth tell you?"

Tamara sighed. "Garth only passed along what Dean told him, which apparently wasn't the half of it. Where did you find this girl?"

He shifted his feet. "We did a spell." Tamara's face fell, but Sam went on. "It would send a demon back to hell and rescue a human soul in it's place. We didn't know what to expect."

She was staring at him with wide eyes. "Are you telling me you pulled that girl out of hell?" At Sam's pained expression, Tamara groaned loudly, running her fingers through her short hair. "And you expect me to rehabilitate her?"

"We don't have much of a choice; you're our best option. Listen, nobody is expecting any miracles, but you can't help…" he trailed off.

"Then what, she's out of luck? If I can't fix her, you'll just give up trying?"

"No, absolutely not. Nobody is giving up. Edith just needs time, and patience. Someone who has the slightest idea what they're doing, which Dean and I do not. Garth thought you were the best person for the job."

"Maybe because your brother conveniently left out the part about hell. This is so far beyond my pay grade; I don't even know where to begin. There is no precedent for this!"

"I know, believe me. That's exactly why we called for backup." Sam put his hand on Tamara's shoulder. "Let me ask you something. How did you get into this? Counseling, therapy, why do you do it?"

She crossed her arms. "You really want to know?" It was more of a challenge than a question. "After my husband died, I was angry. Furious. I wanted revenge on any monster I could get my hands on. Sound familiar?" She gave him a pointed look. "You know how it goes. I became reckless." At that, she raised up her shirt to reveal a jagged scar across her stomach. Sam inhaled sharply at the sight. It was a crooked line of purple and white against her brown skin, the entire scar about seven inches long. Tamara let her shirt fall into place as she continued. "While I was in hospital, a friend told me-" She paused, and the anger seemed to fizzle out of her. She sighed. "-to stop chasing death. It was not the way to honor Isaac's memory, or our daughter's." She smiled wistfully. "I decided to give up hunting."

"How?" Sam was intrigued. "I mean, knowing what you know…"

Tamara laughed. "Well, there's more than just putting down the monsters. Once the threat is gone, people are left confused, shaken. That's where I fit in now. When the hunters leave, I help the victims put their lives back together. I've been taking classes, researching new techniques. I even got a job; I work part time at a veteran's retirement home."

"You make it sound so simple. Doesn't it put you in more danger from everything that's out there, now that you've stopped fighting?"

She pursed her lips. "Maybe. There's always going to be something to be afraid of. But I couldn't keep going on like that without my life standing for something."

That struck a chord. He studied her, his expression serious. "Are you happy?"

Her eyes crinkled up in a genuine smile. "Very much. I miss my family, but I know they would be proud of what I'm doing. It feels good to help."

Sam nodded. His eyes flicked past her to the closed door.

Tamara made a face. "Oh, I see what you did there. Damn it, Winchester! Fine, you got me, I'll give it a shot." At that, she snatched the papers from his hand, and went back inside the room. Chuckling, Sam strode off to find his brother and fill him in on the new information.

Dean had also been looking for Sam, and they found each other at the bottom of the staircase. "I gotta tell you something," they both said simultaneously.

"You go ahead," Dean insisted.

"I figured out who Edith was. The reason I couldn't dig up anything sooner was because I was looking under the wrong name." He shuffled through the stack of pages in his hands. "Edith Nolan was her maiden name; her death certificate, and everything else I've found, is under her married name: Edith Anderson."

Dean rubbed a hand across his neck as he thought that over. "So then, what? She married the herpes guy?"

"Really, Dean?" Sam brushed off the remark. "Anyway, some of these articles are pretty recent, but I want to go out there and check things out before we tell her anything." He came across one headline and stopped, a smile forming on his face. "Oh, and then I stumbled across this." He held the page out to his brother.

"Whoa." Dean's eyebrows went up as he took the printout. "Nice. But how does this help us?"

"I found a group at the university that specializes in that sort of thing. They're meeting on Friday. I think we should take Edith." He noticed Dean's hesitation. "What? Don't you think that's a good idea?"

"I don't know. Look at us, man." Dean scuffed his foot on the bottom step. "What if this is exactly what Crowley wanted. I mean, we're up to our elbows with this chick, figuring out who she was, trying to keep her from offing herself. What if he was counting on that? Maybe this whole time he's been working up something big and nasty, and she's the distraction."

"Maybe." Sam nodded somberly. "So what then? Do we leave her here with Tamara?"

Dean sighed. "No... I don't know." He looked at the paper in his hand again. "Listen, this ain't a bad idea. You take her. I'll stay here and hold down the fort."

"I was actually hoping you could help me with something beforehand." Sam got his puppy eyes ready just in case. "You'll like this, I promise."

* * *

_**Author Note:**_ I originally did not intend on putting the entire script of Tamara's relaxation therapy into this chapter, but it occurred to me that someone reading this story might benefit from it. The method described here is almost identical to something actually used by therapists for patients with stress, anxiety, or trauma. If you're interested, just google "relaxation training exercises" or my personal favorite "progressive muscle relaxation" and try it out.


	12. Chapter 12

Edith was exactly where Tamara had left her, in her safe room. It was lovely. There was a flower bed along one side, and a water fountain in the center. Currently she was seated on a bench watching some finches on a bird feeder.

Tamara's soothing voice reached her ears. "Are you comfortable?" Edith nodded. "Look around your safe place once again. This time, I want you to notice something you didn't see before. It might be a locked room, a storage chest, maybe a closet or a filing cabinet. What do you see?"

She left her bench and wandered down the path, looking around. Tamara was right, just around the corner there was something familiar between two lilac bushes. "My grandmother's wooden hope chest."

"Good," Tamara's voice encouraged. "Now this is important. You have absolute control over the chest and it's contents. Inside are your thoughts and memories. You can choose open it, pull out a memory and examine it, and you can put it away again whenever you like. Does that sound agreeable?"

Edith swallowed hard, glaring at the innocent-looking wooden chest before her. "Yes."

"Alright, dear. If you feel ready, go ahead and open it."

Kneeling on the soft ground, Edith suddenly found a key in her hand. She tried it in the lock on the chest, and to her surprise, it turned with a soft click.

"Very good, Edith! Now remember, you can stop any time you wish. Could you tell me if there is anything in the chest about a man named Howard Anderson?"

She pushed the curved lid open and peered inside. The chest was full of smaller containers. Rectangular shoe boxes, a round metal sewing tin, little jewelry boxes, and many others. She picked up a small velvet pouch and pulled it open, tipping the contents into her palm. Out tumbled a school ring, silver with a blue stone. Edith smiled. "Howie."

"Tell me about him."

She rubbed her thumb over the engraved sides of the ring. "We've been steady since junior year. He's a swell dancer." She notice the velvet pouch was not empty, and shook it again. Another ring fell out, this one simpler, more delicate. It was a wedding band. Edith put it on. "He's gonna make an honest woman out of me."

"Is that so?"

"He's so protective." She put the school ring back in the bag, and picked up a red shoe box. Her mouth went dry as she opened the lid. The shoe box was stuffed full of envelopes made out to her. Edith ran her fingers over the words, and her pulse sped up. "He'll never forgive me."

Tamara frowned. "For what, honey?"

She flipped through the stacks of letters, one after another. Her name was written in the same cursive hand on each one. She sorted through them frantically. "If I could just explain myself, if I could… make him understand." A few of the envelopes drifted to the ground, and some landed in her lap.

"Edith, do you want to put this back in the chest?"

She quickly shook her head. "He never gave me a chance." In the bottom of the shoe box, under all the letters, was a hairbrush. She held it in both hands, and a tear slid down her face. "It wasn't supposed to end like this!" Her fingers tightened around the brush. "He ruined everything."

"Let's put it away now, love, close the chest for me."

Edith began to scoop up the letters that had fallen. The tears in her eyes were making it hard to see. She rubbed them away with the back of her hand, taking a moment to catch her breath. When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the garden. "Tamara?" she called. No answer. She looked around. She was kneeling on the floor of someone's kitchen. Memories came back to her. This was her kitchen, no, their kitchen. She got to her feet. Her heart was racing.

Footsteps thundered into the room, and Edith turned with a gasp. She remembered this. The man glared at her, anger seething in his eyes. "Did you think it wouldn't get back to me?"

"Howie," she pleaded, "what on earth are you talking about?"

His fist slammed against the table. "I know you've screwing around. I just wanna hear you say it."

She reached her hands out. "That's aint true, darlin. I've been with nobody except for you."

"You whore," he spat out. "Lying to to my face now? Eddie saw you kissing a guy out behind the factory."

Edith shook her head. "That's not what you think. Howie, just listen…"

He slapped her across the cheek. She grabbed the table for support, gasping. His finger pointed accusingly. "I have had it with your stories. No more lies. Who is he?"

"Okay. No more lies. Howie, I- I worked something out. The guy, he was a broker, that's all, I swear."

"What are you thinking, making arrangements behind my back?" His lip curled up in disgust. "What the hell is wrong with you? Like you got anything to broker with anyhow!" He narrowed his eyes. "You better not've broke into my savings."

She shook her head frantically. "No Howie-"

His fingers closed around her arm. "My hard-earned money, and for what?" He yanked her violently back and forth. "What have you gone and done? Tell me!"

"It was for Herbie!"

The air in the kitchen grew thin as Howard dropped her arm and took a step back. He licked his lips. "Is that so?" Before she could reply, he turned and walked away.

Catching her breath, Edith rubbed her bruised arm. She listened to his steps retreating up the stairs. Then her heart skipped a few beats. He wouldn't dare. Not waiting to see if she was right, Edith pushed herself away from the table and ran down the hall. Howard was already coming back down the staircase. She rounded the corner and crossed the sitting room, flinging open the front door. Footsteps echoed down the hall. She raced down the porch steps.

Next door, Mrs. Newell was outside watering her petunias, and she looked up at Edith's hasty exit. A car cruised by. A boy was cutting grass across the street, and little Janet from down the block was headed this way, pushing her doll carriage. The girl waved hello, and Edith managed a smile.

A long bang filled the air, then another. Mrs. Newell screamed.

Edith tried to turn and see, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. The ground was rushing up toward her. She couldn't even lift her arms to brace for the impact. Her knees hit first, then she tipped forward, her cheek smashing against the sidewalk. Everything went black.

Tamara's voice came, very faint. "Edith, you're in control of this. Slam the lid."

Something tasted bitter. Her eyes shot open, and she coughed. She was lying face down on her own front walk. Embarrassing. Across the grass, she could see Mrs. Newell running toward her. Voices were shouting nearby, but it didn't seem important. Edith wanted to move. She dragged her left arm forward until she got it far enough to push up a little. She must have landed in a puddle, because the front of her dress clung wetly. Her arm trembling with the effort, she turned her head to see little Janet staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Edith opened her mouth to tell the girl that everything was fine, but no sound came out.

A deafening bang filled the air. The little girl was crying now, looking past Edith at something behind. At least the shouting had stopped. In the silence, Edith realized what the noise had been. Howie's shotgun. She suddenly felt very tired. Letting her head drop to the ground, she exhaled with a wheezing rattle.

Someone was gently patting her face. "Come back to me now. You're safe, wake up."

Her eyes blinked opened. She took a deep breath, one hand clutching her chest. "I remember." She slumped back against the couch and inhaled deep gulps of air. Tamara squeezed her hand.


End file.
